First to Fight Box Set: Books 1-5

by Nicole Blanchard

  “If we get out of this, I have this cottage on the beach. I think you’d like it.”

  “Are you hitting on me?” she asks softly.

  I don’t get the chance to answer because Jones appears in the stairwell. I’m going to enjoy kicking his motherfucking ass when I get the opportunity.

  Jones sits opposite me. “Now, where were we?”

  “Why did you want me here?” I ask plainly. “What do you want?”

  “So eager,” Jones says. “Very well. I’m here because I’d like to get to know the illustrious Gabriel Rossi better, though from our short acquaintance, I’ve found you to be pathetically predictable.”

  “Have you?” I sneer. “And why is that?”

  Jones picks at his sleeve with feigned nonchalance. “At first I was concerned her interference completely ruined months of careful planning.” He flicks an annoyed glance at Chloe. “Then, to my surprise, you came anyway. I must know, what was your motivation?”

  Her gaze is already on me when I peer in her direction. “It was the right thing to do,” I say to them both.

  Chloe’s eyes shutter closed and a wave of pain crosses her face, pinching her brows and lips.

  “The right thing to do,” Jones says, drawing my attention back to him. “Interesting. Do you consider yourself a good person?”

  “No better than any other man,” I say.

  “How humble,” Jones says scathingly. “Is your charitable nature why you volunteer with the Coast Guard?”

  “I wouldn’t call it charity. I’ve always loved serving my country.”

  “Do you enjoy saving lives, Mr. Rossi?” he asks, the smile now gone from his too-wide lips.

  “I enjoy being helpful.”

  “Helpful. Hmm. Do you want to know what I think?”

  “I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

  The squawk from the radio cuts off his answer. Above the sounds of my racing heart, I can hear Tyler’s urgent voice. When I scan back at Jones, I find him staring at the unconscious body of the captain.

  “Gabe, you there?” Though the connection is terrible and filled with crackling, it’s unmistakably Tyler.

  Jones smiles, but this time, he seems almost resigned. “Better get that, Rossi. Don’t worry, we’ll wait.” He drops a hand to Chloe’s hair and strokes. I don’t miss the shiver that wracks her body and I doubt it has anything to do with the wind.

  I lurch to my feet and nearly go back down. Guess that explosion knocked my head around a bit more than I thought. The dash, luckily, isn’t too far away, and I catch myself on the edge and manage to stay on my feet.

  “Gabe?” crackles the radio.

  I fumble with the handheld and hold it up to my mouth. “Tyler, it’s Gabe.”

  “Gabe, good to hear from you after that shit show. Can you talk?”

  The radio may be filled with static, but Jones is close enough that he can hear every word Tyler’s saying so I glance to him for confirmation. When he nods, I turn back and say into the radio, “Yeah, I can talk. What have you got?”

  “There are hundreds of people with the last name Jones,” he starts.

  “Well, that’s helpful.”

  “So, I went digging. We can assume, from his insistence that he had to have you and no one else, that he’s tied to you in some way, so we’ve had every man on the ground looking into your background for any possible ties.”

  “I hope you’re calling because you found one.”

  “We damn near didn’t. But I knew the name sounded familiar, but it didn’t click until I started searching into all the rescue ops for the past five years. There was a woman about a year ago? Her small fishing boat had gotten caught during a squall. We ended up having to call off the search.”

  I press my fingers into my bleary eyes trying to pull the details from my muddled thoughts. Then it hits me all at once and I nearly stagger backward. Her name had been Sheila Langford-Jones.

  Jones. Jones. Jones.

  The color drains from my face and I have to white knuckle the dash to keep from keeling over.

  “I remember,” I say hoarsely, and I lean heavily against the dash as I turn to face the man whose wife I couldn’t save. “I was the one leading the team.” By the end, my voice is barely audible.

  “You’re the reason why I’m all alone, Mr. Rossi,” Jones says.

  Chloe

  My father was always a stoic man. In fact, I don’t think I can even remember ever seeing him cry. As a police officer, he’d seen a lot of horrific things and he was raised to keep those things locked up tight. I never saw him seek my mother out for comfort. He was affectionate, to a point, but not very open. I imagine he was that way because if he ever did open up, all the pain and fear and regret could never be shoved back in and sewn up again.

  If he’d ever broken, I imagine he’d bear a striking resemblance to Gabe when he realizes why Jones orchestrated this whole horrific ordeal.

  The fight goes out of him and he slumps against the console behind him. The string keeping his spine straight snaps and he crumples and his hands cover his eyes as though he can blot out the images running across his brain.

  I itch to cross the room and offer him something, anything, to comfort him, but Jones towers by my side. He watches Gabe break with sick satisfaction. When I look back at Gabe, his fingers are trembling as he wipes the sweat from his brow.

  I can’t even imagine how he’s feeling. I ache for him. I want him to curl up with his head in my lap so I can soothe his bleeding heart.

  “She died,” Gabe says once he gains control of his emotions.

  Jones nods. “She drowned less than a mile from where you directed the search.”

  Gabe mirrors his nod, both hands now supporting him on the console. “I remember now.”

  Jones crosses an ankle and cocks his head to the side. Unlike Gabe, his hands are steady as he caresses the gun on the table with a single finger. “Do you like playing God, Mr. Rossi? Do you like feeling in control of whether people live or die?”

  “I—” Gabe struggles to find words and he scrubs a hand over his face. “I’ve never looked at it like that.”

  “No? You’ve never felt a rush when you’re responsible for saving a life? Or ending one?”

  “All I’ve ever wanted to do is help people,” Gabe says, finally slinking to the floor as if his legs can no longer support his weight.

  “You only had to keep searching,” Jones says, his voice growing more urgent. “She was right there.”

  “I’m sorry,” Gabe whispers.

  “Sorry won’t bring back my wife.”

  Sensing the situation is deteriorating, I turn to Jones. “What was her name?” I ask, grasping at the first question that comes to mind.

  “Her name was Sheila,” Jones says. The gun clatters against the table and he presses both fists into his eyes.

  “How long were you married?”

  Just keep him talking. If you can distract him, maybe someone will come.

  At least, that’s what I hope.

  “We were married for nineteen years when she died.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Gabe whispers.

  Jones is across the room with his hands around Gabe’s throat before I know what’s happening. In seconds, Gabe’s face goes from ghost-white to purple. Panicked, I look around the room for some way to help and I see that Jones has forgotten the gun on the table in his haste.

  I stare at it for a few long heartbeats and then it’s in my hand, heavier and bigger than I would have imagined. I flick off the safety and then cross the room.

  Jones is still so intent on Gabe that he doesn’t notice me until I press the muzzle against his head. “Let him go,” I say, not recognizing the confident voice of the woman speaking.

  Gabe’s bloodshot eyes find mine and he shakes his head as much as he can with Jones’ hands still around his throat.

  Ignoring him, I jam the gun against Jones’ skull. “I said, let him go.”

 
; “What are you gonna do with that, little girl?” Jones asks, but his hands ease fractionally and Gabe’s eyes find me over Jones’ shoulder.

  “I’m going to blow your head off if you don’t let him go in the next ten seconds.” Surprisingly, my hands are steady for the first time in hours as I nudge his shoulder with the gun. “Now, I said get up.”

  Jones waits a few seconds and then eases back on his haunches. “I should have killed you when I had the chance,” he growls.

  “Too late,” I respond with a sickly sweet smile. Gabe coughs as he gets back to his feet. I offer him a hand up and say, “Are you okay?”

  He does a weird shrug/nod that I take to mean yes. His feet are steady, but his eyes are still haunted. He gestures for the gun, but I hesitate for a second.

  “I’m fine.” He gestures again, and I hand it over. The gun in his hand restores some of his confidence and he straightens. “Get Tyler up on the line and tell him we’re about fifteen miles northeast,” he says.

  “What are you gonna do?” Jones goads. “I don’t think you actually have the balls.”

  Gabe points the gun at Jones’ leg and fires off a round. I can’t help my shriek of surprise—or the flinch. Jones howls and collapses on the floor.

  “If you don’t want me to give you an identical one in your other leg, remove this collar.”

  I gasp. “Gabe, no.”

  “It’s fine,” he says without looking at me.

  “But he could detonate it.”

  He shakes his head as he and Jones share a long look. “He won’t do that, will you Jonesy?”

  “How could you possibly know he won’t kill us all?”

  Gabe’s response chills me to my core. “Because he wants to see me suffer and an explosion would be over too quickly. Jones here says he’s been planning this for a while. He wouldn’t want it to end without having a little fun first.”

  “I don’t—”

  But Gabe doesn’t listen. Instead, he crouches to where Jones is now kneeling on the floor and says, “Get the goddamn collar off of my neck or I will shoot you.”

  “Let me—”

  “No,” Gabe interrupts. “Me first. He needs me. He’d be too tempted to hurt you to spite me. He’ll do me and then you’ll explain to me how he did it, so I can take yours off next.” When I don’t move he stands, gun still trained on Jones, and his dark eyes come to me. “You understand?” he asks.

  The words are stuck behind a tangle of fear in my chest. I know my eyes are wild and wide, but I nod anyway. Instinctively, I trust him like I’ve never trusted anyone before, in spite of the news about Jones’ wife.

  Gabe softens a little and hooks a hand around my neck. He forces me to look at him and then presses a soft, swift kiss to my lips, sending a shock throughout my entire body. My hands lift to guard against the onslaught, but end up gripping the still-slick material of his suit instead. Short though the kiss may be, it is unequivocally shattering.

  When he releases me the barest of seconds later he positions me behind his back. I’m both numb and electrified and the combination short circuits my thoughts until I hear Jones working on the collar around Gabe’s neck. My breath catches in my throat as Jones carefully maneuvers around the inner workings of the collar. Gabe and I hold a collective breath when the catch releases. I can’t even bare to look.

  A few seconds later, I peer through one eye and find Gabe rubbing his naked neck with one hand. The collar dangles from two long, tan fingers and he holds the gun loosely in his other hand.

  Jones looks up at him, his face carefully blank. “What now, Gabe?”

  Gabe sets the collar down carefully on the table, then gestures with the gun. “You’re not done yet, Mr. Jones. Her next. I hope you have steady hands.”

  “Great,” I mutter as I move next to him.

  “Did you talk to Ty?” Gabe asks as he moves behind me.

  “No,” I hiss back, “I was too worried about the bomb around your neck.”

  He puts a hand on my back and nudges me forward. “I’m right here, Chloe.”

  I’m pretty sure I don’t breathe until Gabe leans forward and says, “That’s it. You’re okay.”

  There’s the slightest moment where a weight is lifted off my neck—both figuratively and literally—and then I get thrown backward, knocking Gabe down along with me.

  Maybe the son-of-a-bitch detonated the bomb anyway.

  Gabriel

  Cold.

  Everything is cold.

  Cold and numb.

  I’d give anything for just a few minutes under the hot desert sun. I’d take the bombs, the endless, desolate panoramas, and even one hell of a dust storm for one ray of sunlight.

  Something.

  Anything to warm up my icy insides again.

  The phone is ringing.

  Is Emily calling?

  Shit, was I supposed to pick her up today? Taylor will be pissed.

  I sit up and my head spins.

  God, I must have drank too much.

  A hand shakes me and my traumatized brain conjures up a picture of a beautiful woman, all doe eyes and long hair.

  Chloe.

  I shoot straight up, ignoring the vicious pounding in my head. The ringing wasn’t coming from a phone. It’s coming from my own ears. Chloe is laying across my legs, her eyes fluttering, and soft groans bubbling up from her throat. Then her eyes open and she looks right at me.

  “What the hell happened?” she asks, her voice cracking. She wets her lips with the tip of a pink tongue and lifts her uninjured hand to her brow.

  Remembering Jones pushing Chloe, who knocked me down, I scan the wheelhouse and find it empty.

  “Shit!” I get to my feet and offer her my hand. She looks up at me as she takes it and I pull her up. “The bastard just can’t help shoving you, can he? I’m going to kick his ass.”

  “Where’d he go?” she asks.

  “If he’s smart, he jumped ship.” I go to the fridge where I found his store earlier and find the gun still there. Finally, something goes right today. “Do you see where the other gun went?”

  She glances around, confused. “I must have dropped it when he pushed me over.”

  A quick glance around the room and the gun doesn’t turn up. “Best to assume he has it.”

  “Gabe,” Chloe says.

  I cross to the dashboard and radio Tyler. The line crackles but is otherwise silent.

  “Gabe!”

  I radio Tyler again, but still no response. Chloe yanks at my shirt and I turn around ready to snarl. “What the fuck?”

  “The captain,” she hisses and forces my head around with her hands.

  The space where he was propped up against the wall is vacant and he’s nowhere else in sight. I stride back across the room and rip the radio off its hook. “Tyler, it’s Gabe, are you there?”

  “Gabe, we’re here,” the radio crackles.

  “Thank God.” I give him our location and as I’m in the middle of relaying what’s happened since we last spoke, I hear the ping of a bullet off of the dashboard. I drop the mic and cover Chloe’s body with my own, but not before the next whizzing bullet causes her to cry out in pain.

  I don’t even notice when a third cuts a path of fire through my side or when a fourth shatters the glass above the dash, causing it to rain down on us.

  “Are you—”

  “If you ask me if I’m okay again, I’ll strangle you myself,” she says. “It’s just a scratch.”

  I push my own injuries to the back of my head. “If you say so.” Pressing Jones’ gun into her hands, I shelter her with my body and urge her toward a wall for more cover. “I sure hope you know how to use this.”

  “Point and shoot, right?” she asks.

  Even if I had the time, it’s not worth it to argue. “Basically,” I say. “Aim for his middle. Otherwise you’re bound to miss.”

  “Do you think he will hurt the captain?” Chloe asks.

  “I think he’ll do whatever
he can. He’s desperate. I also think you should stay here while I go try to find where he’s hiding.”

  Her fingers dig into my arm. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. He’s got a gun.”

  My teeth flash and I gesture to the firearm I found in the refrigerator. “So do I.”

  “We should wait until Tyler gets here with the sheriff’s.”

  “If we do that, then Jones will kill him.”

  “And if you do this, Jones will kill you.”

  I tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “We don’t have another choice.”

  She squares her shoulders. “Fine, but I’m going with you.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Her eyes flash and her pouty lips pull into a frown. “It’s not up to you,” she says and then skirts around me.

  I grab her arm and she struggles against me. “The hell it isn’t. You’re not fucking going anywhere.”

  She gets in my face. “I think I’ve proved today that I won’t run away from this guy. I can either go with you now, or follow you once you leave, but either way, you aren’t leaving me behind,” she says, then gives a pointed look at my hand still around her arm. “You can let go of me now.”

  When I don’t, she frowns up at me.

  “I’m thinking about it,” I say.

  She tugs her arm, but gets nowhere. “Better think fast.”

  “You’re making me wish I was a cop so I could handcuff your ass where you’d be safe.”

  She tugs her arm again and this time, I let her go. As she rubs her wrist, she glares up at me. “My dad was a cop. I’ve got my own damn handcuffs.”

  I open my mouth to respond and then my jaw clamps closed. Blindly, I turn around and stride to the stairs as I gulp for air. Jesus Christ.

  Surviving a psychopath hell-bent on my destruction is easy, but surviving Chloe is something else altogether.

  “Gabe?” she whispers from behind me.

  “Don’t talk,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she says anyway.

  The stairs are empty and they end in a square of flooring with yellow light pooling in the center. Smears of blood streak across from the woman Jones shot. The only thing in our line of sight is the woman’s red heel poised drunkenly on its side.